


A Little Sugar

by MollyWeisser11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beards (Relationships), Christmas, Cokeworth, Community: snapecase, F/M, Gluttony, Happily Ever After, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Sex Work, Weight Issues, alcohol use, fat appreciation, mention of suicide/suicidal ideation, offscreen background history: gay man marries a woman then kills himself, offscreen background history: unrequited gay love, prolific cussing, romance with former student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyWeisser11/pseuds/MollyWeisser11
Summary: Snape in Cokeworth on Christmas Eve in 2000. He has insomnia and wanders into a burlesque show, where he re-encounters a former student who has grown up - in more ways than one.
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode/Severus Snape
Kudos: 7





	A Little Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by LunaP999! thanks love <3 <3 <3 
> 
> written for snapecase 2021 https://snapecase.livejournal.com/101026.html

**Title** : A Little Sugar  
 **Type** : Fic  
 **Age-Range Category** : Four  
 **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** : Severus Snape / Millicent Bulstrode  
 **[Artist, Author, or Artist & Author]**: MollyWeisser11   
**Beta(s)** : Thanks to LunaP999 for alphabetaing!  
 **Rating** : R   
**Click to View** Alcohol use, gluttony, fat appreciation, prolific cussing, sex work, mention of suicide/suicidal ideation, offscreen background history: unrequited gay love, gay man marries a woman then kills himself.  
 **Summary** : Snape in Cokeworth on Christmas Eve in 2000. He has insomnia and wanders into a burlesque show, where he re-encounters a former student who has grown up - in more ways than one. 

A Little Sugar

10:02pm, December 24th, 2000

For the moment, he would escape the hubbub of the downtown streets. He took off his soaked scally cap and held it in one hand, his nostrils flaring at the too-familiar smells of spilled beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke. The holiday crowds in Cokeworth weren’t quite so bad as in London, but he still didn’t like pushing his way through old biddies toddling drunkenly home with their Christmas shopping. Or the heavy, nasty rain that stirred up the smells of urban decay and made the air stench of iron and tar. 

His hometown had lately become covered with the sheen of Muggle Tech and the particular kind of magic with which those corporations could spell away poverty and squalor. But to Severus’ simultaneous dismay and relief, the darkest corners of Cokeworth hadn’t changed much. 

While he couldn’t help but trip over a new chic coffee shop at every corner, at least there was still a rare gin joint where he could while away his lonely insomnia. 

“Ahem.” 

He thrust a tenner into the impassive hand of the large man at the door, allowing his eyes to drift towards the brightly lit empty stage. 

The door supervisor’s hand stopped him from moving forward into the pub.

He rummaged and found another, smaller note. “It’s tanking down,” he observed, allowing his dormant northern accent eek its way out of his mouth as a way of establishing credibility - lest he be taken for some posh programmer type and unfairly charged double. 

The supervisor shrugged and shook his head, accepting the note with a huff and waving his heavy hand towards the stage as the music began to pick up: a dull piano and a quiet shuffling-tapping of jazz drums and cymbals. 

Severus wandered inside, gratified he didn’t have to empty his pockets, and leaned against the bar to obtain a pint. The dim applause of the twenty-odd audience members made him turn before catching the barkeep’s attention. He was greeted by the sight of a rather stout youngish woman who sauntered slowly onto the stage with an enormous fan. She wore a skin-tight shimmering gold frock that left rather little to the imagination, and despite the thickness of her makeup and the perkiness of her platinum coiffe, she looked like a cup of coffee would do her some good. 

_Perfect._

He passed a hungry tongue over his lips. In her, he recognized elements of himself: she was a jaded, heartbroken, fellow ugly thing who could express his misery with greater aptitude than he with the shredded voice. 

It did surprise him to hear her dulcet contralto begin like the rumbling of old pipes, but as she began to move into her song, he found his breath taken quite away. 

_I want a little sugar in my bowl  
I want a little sweetness down in my soul  
I could stand some lovin’ oh so bad  
I feel so funny, I feel so sad   
I want a little steam on my clothes  
Maybe I can think things up so they’ll go  
What’s the matter daddy, come on, save my soul  
I need some sugar in my bowl, I ain’t foolin’  
I want some sugar in my bowl _

During the bridge, the performer slowly began to tease off her outfit, turning her back directly to the audience. One ample shoulder rose out of her sweetheart bodice as her hips swayed to the music, followed by a plump arm and chubby-fingered hand. She swept around seductively, eyes closed in innocent seductiveness, one hand clasped to her heart and one pressed just above her pelvis - where she spread her fan suggestively. 

Severus felt himself tauten at the sight, his need rising as he watched her hand knead at her soft abdomen. Her breasts moved like massive floating baubles as she continued to shimmer under the spotlight. It was unexpectedly sensuous, and he noticed his breath begin to catch as the metallic spandex sparkled with motion. 

_Gods,_ she was beautiful. He’d been mistaken, this woman was nothing like him - she had this erotic energy that spellbound every pair of eyes in the room. He could only dare to dream of that kind of power. 

And then with tremendous ease, the performer did a slow, deliberate spin around to show off her other shoulder. Her delicate skin seemed to shudder as she revealed it, and this rippling effect carried her back around again with a fey kind of wiggle that entranced the living daylights out of Severus. 

Every inch of her scrumptious body seemed to ache with desire, and as she gave a coy, knowing smile towards the audience, he knew the very definition of despair. 

It had been… far too long since he’d _shared a little sugar [a]_ with someone[b]. And somehow this enchanting creature’s smile penetrated his soul in a way that made him wistful. He closed his eyes, turned his head towards the heavens, and tried not to weep at the beauty of the vision before him. 

But his peace was just momentary - he could not help but renew his attentions towards her lambent figure.

She was slipping off her knickers now, tantalizing the audience by raising her skirt behind the cover of her fan. Soon she kicked the silky black thing off her foot towards her audience, where it was retrieved by one of the front tables with approving laughter. 

Then she bent over and shook her buttocks at the audience, still ensconced in the sheath dress but visibly less constrained. 

_Oh._ And the groove of her arse, smoothly highlighted by the skin-clinging fabric, made him practically melt into a puddle. 

_If I wasn’t sure about my equipment’s survival of the venom exposure,_ he thought to himself, _now I am.[c]_

He fortified himself with a sip of his Guinness, trying to force the lump in his throat back down again. He would have no trouble at all sleeping once he got back to Spinner’s End and gave himself a well-earned tug. This woman’s antics seemed to have done just the trick. 

Still, he had barely touched his drink, and if he’d learned nothing from his Da, he’d learned that a pint wasted was a penny lost, so he began to drink it with effort. 

Then came the predictable parts, he expected: she’d remove her brassiere, then tempt off her dress, and then all the world would see the pliability of her cream-soft body, the gentle swells of her gorgeous decadence, and the darkness of her meatiest bits. The heat rose to his cheeks just imagining it, or perhaps it was the alcohol. 

He did not expect her to suddenly, with a great and powerful motion, tear her dress down the middle to reveal her milky petals of stomach like a blossoming flower. Like a lotus she unfurled, her arms extending wide like a sunrise and her beautiful, sumptuous body was visible to all. There was no more need for subtlety and shyness - the woman was bare, and brazen, and beautiful. 

The audience was either too drunk to laugh or too shocked by the display to jeer. The woman kicked her clothes off the stage into the disused orchestra pit and sauntered to the microphone, to the polite clapping of a handful of patrons. She had a black velvet burnout kimono there, with tassels that seemed to curl and hiss like snakes, and she pulled it on to render herself relatively decent once more. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, and to his surprise Snape recognized the voice. 

_Damn it all, what kind of witch would debase herself so far as to become a dancer in a Muggle music-hall?_

“Thank you so much for coming tonight,” the low-voiced woman said again, nodding at the couple of applaudees. “Happy Christmas, everyone, from all of us here at Birch’s. You’re in for such a delicious treat. I am Licorice Whip[d], your hostess of the evening. While you help yourselves to the lovely assortment of candies on your tables, make sure you do us all a favor and silence your pagers. Your wives don’t need to know where you are.” 

The audience chuckled lowly - like any of these lot were married. 

Licorice Whip continued, a playful tone in her voice. “No photography permitted - all you need to take tonight are happy memories.” 

She made a slow, sedulous winking motion, and then made a slow, full-hipped revolution to a canned orchestral hit. 

“Now our next act is going to give you all a cavity in your pocket, if you don’t watch out,” Licorice Whip -- _damn it, who was she?_ \-- announced. She proceeded to snicker, the sound of which made Snape nearly jump out of his own skin. He had a flash of remembrance of large owlish glasses and a tendency to wear men’s clothing, and an occasional half-hearted snog with Vincent Crabbe. 

Millicent Bulstrode? 

It turned his stomach to think it was one of his former students. Merlin, help him. 

“Please give a hand to our next lovely lady, Caramel Creme!” 

Millicent walked off the stage, permitting the curtain to rise on a more conventionally beautiful woman all attired in brass colors. 

Snape made to leave in a hurry, but as he did so, he smashed his elbow into another man’s drink, knocking it off the bar. 

“Sorry, mate,” he murmured, and rustled up the remaining bill from his pocket and shoved it at the victim. 

The man definitely had one over the eight, and it was just Severus’ luck that the poor old blighter burst into tears at that moment. 

“Bloody ‘ell,” the bartender said, stepping down from down the bar, “‘oo broke Gerald?” 

As accusing eyes turned towards Severus, a thoughtful voice cut through the tension. “Why Professor, I thought it was you, you old sexy thing!” 

Millicent had come to his rescue. She was wearing her glasses again, and a smirk that transported him immediately to Hogwarts circa 1997. Her kimono was belted around the middle, thank heavens, but otherwise provided Severus with the sad proof that she was indeed the one who had been on stage moments before. 

“Licorice Whip, was it?” he asked primly and guiltily, as if he was a church deacon caught in a compromising position with the vicar’s wife.[e] 

She just smirked more aggressively, and grabbed him by the arm. “We need to talk,” she murmured, and dragged him towards a rear door. “Imagine finding you here, of all places.” 

“Indeed,” he agreed, too flustered at the memories of her bosoms to say much more. 

……………………………

They settled in her dressing room, where she had a hideous recliner sofa facing a television. It practically took up the whole space, so Snape had no choice but to sit. 

“So,” Millicent preened, settling down next to him and propping her hand under her chin. “What brings you to my place?” 

“Your place?” he asked, wondering aloud. 

“I own it,” she answered, and leaned over to obtain two bottles of ale from a mini-fridge. “One of the few places I can get properly smashed and still make good money.” She cracked the lid with her thumb and tossed the cap into the wastebasket. 

This was a bit startling to hear her so candid, and his horror was evident in his face, probably. She dialed it back with a barking laugh. “It’s just a joke,” she offered, and swigged in such a way that Severus knew it definitely wasn’t. 

He unscrewed the lid of his ale in a gesture of good will, however, and sipped. 

“It’s an accomplishment, to be in business,” he said, grasping for words. “How did you manage it?” 

Millicent’s eyes narrowed, as she surveyed her former professor. “Vincent’s inheritance.” 

He nodded, trying to read her in return. “How is he?” 

“Dead.” Her sharp pronunciation of the word almost cut him off, and he felt a squirming sickness in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound it. 

She shrugged. “His demons made his time on earth a living hell.” There was an unmistakable hardness in her face. “Despite what he told me the day we got married, he only ever had eyes for Greg.” 

The knowledge wasn’t particularly hard-hitting; Crabbe and Goyle had been inseparable their entire Hogwarts careers, and Millicent tagged along when convenient, their butch companion. Severus had always wondered which direction within their trio the sparks flew. Now that was one mystery answered. 

“You deserved better,” Snape said, feeling a deep despondency in his chest. 

She gave another roll of her soft shoulder. “Eh, you live and learn, don’t you?” 

“Indeed.” She looked so old compared to her years, despite the fullness of her face. Life had not been kind to her, and it showed. But it saddened him. He wished that circumstances had been different. “Well, it seems you aren’t too bad off.” 

“True.” She poured the rest of her drink back, then stifled a belch in her sleeve. “It could be worse. I could have been preggers.” 

This won a hard, unamused look from Snape, and she gave a bursting laugh. “It’s strange,” she elaborated, “I would have thought you’d loosen up a bit, now that you’re not my teacher.” 

“Old habits,” Snape answered, realizing he was doing his best to ignore the throbbing memories of her near-nakedness that goaded his less than proper imagination. “I don’t know what I should do in this situation.” 

This piqued her interest. “What situation?” she inquired, giving him a slow smile. 

He allowed his eyes to drift to the ceiling, seeking inspiration on how to navigate. “The kind of situation where I step into an off-colour entertainment venue and observe something I never expected to see.” 

She gave a toothy, cruel grin. “What kind of _something_?” 

The man swallowed, his mind awash with licentious images of Licorice Whip. He gauged his audience, who seemed low-key interested. 

What the hell - she was far from being in a position to judge. 

“I’m not sure I’d say this, except that you might be offended if I didn’t,” Snape stated, and she leaned towards him with express interest. “I never expected to see such an enchanting performance from the likes of you, Bulstrode.” 

There was a distinct sparkle in her eyes as she chortled. “Enchanting, hm?” she asked, and her bosom seemed to rise with the compliment, causing her kimono to slip further down. “That’s astonishingly high praise from you, sir.” 

He felt a need to temper the compliment, and did so by adding, “I never considered that a Christmas pudding could be capable of that kind of movement.” 

This ignited a fire in her eyes, and her grin slipped into a snarl. “Arse.” 

He gave a nonchalant shrug, and returned her glare with a steady, amused gaze. 

The tension snapped with a bang as the dressing-room door was thrown open, and a stiff, tired-looking older woman announced, “On in five, Millie.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Millicent drawled, waving the stage manager away. “At least I have a thing or two I’ve picked up over the years,” she returned to Snape with a coquettish flounce of her head. “Unlike your skinny rolling-stone arse, I have stability and prosperity.” 

He mulled over this a moment, and then his companion stood and waved a wand over her outfit. She was suddenly attired in a skin-tight bodysuit that left very little to the imagination, and clung to every curve she possessed. 

“I’ll be back,” she growled, and thrust a pudgy finger at him menacingly. “Don’t you go nowhere.” 

He didn’t return the volley, and instead thought over what kind of response the young woman warranted. 

………………….. 

“I only stayed because I hadn’t finished my ale,” Snape justified, following behind Millicent as she clomped down the cobblestones with fierce, unrepentant commitment to her role as leader. 

“In an hour and a half,” Millicent argued. 

“I helped myself to another.” 

“World’s slowest drinker.” 

Not the least bit offended, Severus trotted after his former student, trying to ignore the sight of her buttocks and how they stretched the skin-tight bodysuit with every step. She was wearing a fur coat that cut off at the waist, hoop earrings, and ridiculously high-heeled shoes, and all of it served to make her look rather cheap. Not that he minded, of course. One man’s trash being another man’s treasure, the way he saw it. He wouldn’t have minded walking arm in arm with her down the streets of town, looking to all the world like a middle-aged tosser with his flimsy overdressed bimbo, cruising for trouble or for a good time, or maybe both. 

Heaven knew, they were a perfect match for the job.

“I’m wounded,” Snape returned, and rushed ahead of her to gently thumb the crosswalk button in a gentlemanly manner. 

“Well, after that pudding insult, the least you can do is buy my supper,” Millicent grumbled, not making eye contact with him. To be fair, she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and he suspected by the squint of her heavily shadowed lids that she could scarcely see a thing without her lenses. 

This was further reinforced by the fact that as they started to make their way across the road, she stumbled and fell, her heel slipping into a grate. 

“Damn and blast,” she cursed, and Snape bent to help her to her feet. She groped at his arm in confusion, then accepted the assistance.

“You can’t see without your glasses, can you?” he said, and she gave a bark of laughter that was starting to feel more infectious every time he heard it. 

“Not a bloody thing,” Millicent agreed, limping along with him. 

“Seems unwise to leave your establishment without them,” Snape judged, though his tone was not harsh. 

“How else am I going to convince you to take this ratty old thing to bed with you, now,” Millicent chuckled darkly, “This face needs all the help it can get.” 

The suggestion of taking her to bed filled him with simultaneous anticipation and dread, so he batted it away with an effortless comment. “I understand -- if your best option for a Christmas shag is the likes of _me_ , anyone would forgo proper vision.” 

“Snape!” the woman roared with laughter, and it was irresistible but to join in with her. “You sly old dog.” 

_Old._

Though she was throwing around the word tonight like it was going out of style, it made Severus’ heart sink to remember their age difference. _Old_ was right. He was turning forty-one in a fortnight, and especially when he remembered, she was around the same age as fucking _Potter,_ that was a terrifying thought. 

But he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on this, for the moment. Millicent was nearly stumbling with every fourth step, while his concentration was diverted. 

“Now, where is it we are going?” Snape asked, trying to push away the fruits of his woolgathering. 

“It’s a pub called _The Grasshopper,_ ” Millicent said, and squinted ahead of her (as though that might help anything). “It should be around another block or so...” 

“We passed it already,” Severus said, and maneuvered her into facing the opposite direction. “They have decent food?” 

“It’s downright nasty,” Millicent returned, and laughed gaily. “But it’s the only thing that is open at midnight on Christmas eve.” 

To be sure, a minute or so later, he heard the St. Agnes’ church bell toll the hour, and he shook his head at the familiar sound. 

………………….. 

“I’ll finish that,” Millicent said, stealing his remaining chips and smashed peas. 

“Feeling of a mood for dessert?” Snape asked, carefully observing the woman with interest. She’d already put away a full plate of fried haddock and chips, an appetizer of devilled kidneys, a personal sized Yorkshire pudding, and several rolls. He was grateful he had a credit card on him; his work at the Muggle hospital in security doomed him to a life of relatively insipid paydays.

“I simply couldn’t, could you?” she asked between bites, and then mused, “Though perhaps I could make an exception for a toffee pudding.” 

“Ah, yes,” Severus murmured, and leaned back in his chair to nurse his Guinness. At this point in the evening, he wasn’t very hungry himself, but he found a perverse kind of thrill in watching the round young woman enjoy herself like this. 

She looked a bit giddy with the robust meal settling in her stomach, but there was a telltale starlight in her eyes as she seemed to beg his indulgence. Toffee pudding seemed to be the least of what she was asking for - there was much more tied up in it. His approval, especially. 

He decided to grant it to her. “I think that could be arranged.” Then, taking another swig of his drink, he closed his eyes and realized that sleep was beginning to tug at him. Even more surprising was the sudden warmth around his hand as it rested on the table. He opened his eyes to see Millicent gazing at him with a soft kind of gratitude, holding his hand with her own. 

“Thanks for that,” she answered, as if she knew that he knew how important his nonjudgmental stance meant to her, and then the vulnerable tinge on her face disappeared, and she withdrew into her food again. 

Feeling a rush of encouragement, he ordered two servings of toffee pudding and a slice of cake, confident that none of those dishes would be touched by him. 

………………….. 

“I have to thank you for tonight,” Millicent said, sounding a bit drunk, though she’d made it up the stairs of her flat without misadventure. “I haven’t had that since Vincent died.” 

“Had what?” Snape asked, helping her down onto her bed, where she sprawled unceremoniously. It was a large bed, a perfect size for two unusually large adults to share intimacy with room to spare. Severus could not help but notice the monogrammed towel on the nightstand - M.C. and V.C. 

It didn’t seem the kind of thing Millicent would choose for herself, from what Snape would guess. It must have been a sign of Vincent’s former presence in the household, though Snape struggled to imagine Vincent Crabbe having an interest in monogramming. Perhaps it was a wedding gift. 

The woman didn’t answer directly, instead slowly taking apart her buttoned-up outfit.

Snape turned his head primly away, and then Millicent laughed, which got his attention despite himself. “Aren’t you joining me?” the woman asked, slipping the fabric off her soft shoulders. This revealed a thick, supportive brassiere in purple lace fabric, and she began to undo the garment behind her. 

“You would like me to?” Snape asked, quirking his head and looking at her with some curiosity. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of a surprise that she was inviting him to bed her, given her heavy-handed flirting all night. But he hesitated, since apparently Millicent Bullstrode, at this point in her life, did not seem awfully choosy in her partners, and Severus wasn’t much for casual affairs. He’d take what he could get, of course - which was frequently very little. Was this moment just a continuation of the same, or was there something more potentially here? 

“Well, provided you don’t mind fucking the likes of me.” 

The words she uttered were careful, guarded, and an apparent defense. It was a tone he used far too often: she was braced for a rejection.

He felt his stomach clench in sadness as he heard this piteous plea. 

“That’s not a question,” he murmured, and he permitted himself to sit on the edge of her bed. “There’s very little I’d like _more_ than to do that.” 

He paused, and swallowed with effort. “I just want to make sure that I’m not misreading the situation. You are interested in me to some extent. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, bloody hell, Snape!” Millicent’s eyes were tightly squeezed shut, and Snape could see the glisten of a tear or two on either of her cheeks. “Since forever.” 

“I see.” He inhaled, trying to stabilize his rapid heartbeat. “I appreciate your willingness to tell me.” 

A beat passed, then two, then three. Then four, and it was a little bit awkward at that point, and then five, and Snape stared at the ground, feeling out of sorts. 

Then he looked up at her, and saw she had sat up and she was glaring, furious. “Well?” she demanded, her tone hot and hurt. 

“I can’t say I’ve felt the same,” Severus drawled, and he swallowed. His throat seemed to be tight. “You were my student.”

“That shouldn’t matter,” Millicent replied, her voice rising from its mellow alto pitch. 

“It doesn’t, in the present tense, I suppose.” He began to pick at a loose string on his cuff. “But it definitely did in the past tense.” 

“Oh.” This deflated her, and she slumped back down on the bed. “I forget that sometimes.” 

He chuckled darkly, and allowed himself to gently fold out flat next to her on the bed. “In some ways,” he breathed, “I should probably get used to the idea that I’ve taught most of the eligible witches in this whole damned country.” He paused. “For the most part, I have - except then there are moments like this, where I realize what that actually means, and what it actually looks like, and that isn’t an easy potion to swallow.” 

“Of course not,” Millicent returned, and she turned so that her front faced him. She timidly placed one hand on his shirt front, and his entire body tensed. “You are scared.” 

“No.” He felt like he needed to give her some alternative, and his mind grasped to find the right one. But he couldn’t think of a solution that suited him, so he just remained silent. 

“All right,” she said with an amused huff, “Not scared. Even though it’s okay to be.” 

He didn’t want to admit she was correct; he just laid there somewhat frozen, staring at the frescoed ceiling. 

It was several minutes before he realized he was basically asleep with his eyes open, and was startled awake by a pained sob. 

“What is it?” he asked, feeling like his throat was full of rocks. 

“I… I just have a thing for men with the emotional capabilities of a pebble,” Millicent bemoaned, and she swallowed loudly. “Why the fuck do I do this to myself? I can’t help but fall for walking tragedies who end up leaving me.” 

It began to dawn on him what she meant, and before she could continue, he opened his arms to her and pulled. It was no easy task to move her, but she helped the process along. 

“I’m still here,” he whispered, feeling the tug of tears forming behind his eyes. “Despite it all, despite having very little worth scraping by for, and despite all my self-pity, I am still here. You won’t have to worry about me doing something stupid.” 

“Vincent wasn’t _stupid,_ ” hissed Millicent, pressing a hand into his chest in rejection and pulling back. “He was a wounded animal who kept holding on despite bleeding out every fucking orifice, up until he couldn’t bear it anymore.” 

The strong, impassive face of Vincent Crabbe floated to Severus’ mind, and he felt sick to his stomach at his newfound knowledge about the young man. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Severus said, and sighed. He’d offended her, and he probably was on thin ice permanently now. “It’s true, it isn’t actually stupid. I am such a coward, I have to tell myself it is stupid so my vanity will protect me from my demons.” 

“Because you’re vain about your _fucking_ brains?” 

The accusation chastened him well, and he made to get up from the bed. Clearly he wasn’t welcome here anymore… 

“Oh, don’t be a wanker,” Millicent said, grabbing his arm and pulled him back down again. “Don’t mind my bite. It’s worse than my bark.” 

She giggled a bit drunkenly, and as he rejoined her on the pillows, she pulled him close and pressed her lips upon his. “Don’t go anywhere, please?” she begged, and touched the back of his head. This pushed his face into her soft chest, and he breathed in the sweet scent of her. She smelled like baked bread and candied fruit, and he allowed an experimental tip of his tongue to touch her skin. Her taste reminded him of sugar and frosting. 

“I’d like to stay,” he agreed, and with one hesitant finger, he allowed himself the privilege of wrapping a loop of her hair around his knuckle. “I’ll try not to be a wanker.” 

“Good.” Millicent seemed satisfied somehow, and she held him tighter in an embrace that almost disabled his lungs for her strength. She did release him before he lost consciousness, thankfully, and he gulped fresh air. 

“So.” She suddenly pivoted into conversation again, and she sounded a bit sad, “it seems that you are not likely to bed me tonight?” 

“Would it be dreadfully rude of me to refuse, for the moment?” Severus asked, his chest growing tight with emotion. “I don’t want to be a regret.” 

“How could you be?” The question was asked with such genuineness that he almost believed her. “I’ve carried a torch for you for so long, Snape, I can wait a little while longer.” 

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I just don’t want to bollock things up,if there is a chance that this could be… something.” 

She nodded, and even in the dim bedroom, he could see a brightness in her eyes as she came to terms with his request. Millicent inhaled deeply, and sounded almost at the point of tears. “I don’t recall a man ever wanting to take things slow, with me.” 

“There has to be a first for everything, right?” Severus asked, somewhat shocked at his audacity. He was turning down a good shag… on the premise that this woman might want to see him for more than one night. “I don’t recall a woman ever carrying a torch for me for years on end.” 

She snorted and wiped her face with the back of her wrist. “Well, to be fair, I never expected anything to come of it. And I went and married someone else.” 

A smile began to emerge on his own face, too. “I don’t think I would be here now if you had not been married.” He meant that in more ways than one. 

“Definitely.” She may or may not have heard that double meaning, but it didn’t matter. “I’ll be a moment,” she interjected, popping out of the bed with a sudden energy, and Severus heard her feet thud on the floor and she dashed into the lav. 

He heard the toilet flush and the sink run, and the sound of her brushing her teeth. She came back into the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed. “Thanks for tonight, Snape,” she murmured, and yawned in a boisterous way. “I could do with a few more dinners like we had this evening.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself...” he returned, and added hesitantly, “...as much as I did.” 

Millicent gave a chuckle. “If we become an item,” she mused aloud, “you might get a name like Jack Sprat.” 

The joke made Severus grin despite himself. “Heavens, that sounds like a proposal.” 

She giggled, and despite the sudden and startling loudness of it, he found it quite a pleasing sound. “Oh, sod off,” she managed, and kissed him contrarily. 

“Thank Merlin,” he joked, his heart feeling as light as a feather. To be quite honest, the idea of his lanky arse being married to this delightful Rubenesque beauty… it made his chest quiver with hope. “It’s a bit too early in the morning for that kind of nonsense.” 

So saying, he closed his eyes and allowed his breathing to slow. He held her close all the night through, and fell asleep to her soft snores that filled the room. 

Perhaps forty-one would be a little bit _sweeter_ , if he played his cards right.


End file.
